Flowers and Bread Loaves
by hermionebunny
Summary: Prim battles against her secret crush on Peeta.


Katniss went to the woods to hunt- with Gale, probably. Providing for the family, as always.

My mother left to visit a sick patient. Saving the village, as always.

Meanwhile, I feed Buttercup a bread crust.

Our house in Victor Village bears such grandeur, yet I cannot feel at home. The blank walls, the unblemished counters, the unruffled armchairs- everything screams of emptiness.

Rain pounds the windowpanes. I clutch my head as my aloneness hits me with its full force. Only Buttercup's incessant mews keep the loneliness at bay.

A knock sounds on the door. I rush to pull it open.

"Katniss?" I call out hopefully.

But it's Peeta. The rain has drenched him. Water droplets drip from his blond bangs. "Hey, Prim," he says, smiling.

With a sharp intake of breath, I nod to him. My eyes are downcast, for I know they would wander if I looked at him. "Katniss isn't here," I murmur.

From the corner of my eye, I see Peeta furrow his brow. "Where is she, then?" he inquires.

"Hunting," I inform him, willing myself not to glance up.

"With Gale, I suppose?" Peeta asks, tone acerbic.

I shrug mutely, though I suspect that the answer is "yes." Why ruin Peeta's mood unnecessarily?

Peeta sighs. "Well, I came to give this to your family."

He hands me a ponderous paper bag. Its contents comprise raisin tarts, multigrain loaves, and rolls encrusted with sesame seeds. Despite myself, I grin and meet his eyes.

Instantly, my cheeks begin to burn. Those burnt sienna eyes trigger an unprecedented emotion within me. Attraction.

I pretend to watch Buttercup as I compose myself. Turning back to him at last, I mumble, "Thanks."

"My pleasure," he chortles. "I'd get a cute girl like you anything."  
I know that he means "cute" in the sense of "little girl cute," but my heart throbs anyways. I stand in silence, praying that my heartbeat doesn't reveal the turmoil within me.

Peeta breaks the silence. "You're so rude, making me stand out in the rain."

Tears well up in my eyes. How could I have been so thoughtless? "S-sorry," I mutter, hoping my voice doesn't quaver.

"I was joking, Prim," Peeta chuckles. He punches my shoulder lightly, and warmth suffuses my body.

Of course- Peeta could never be so unkind, not even to an enemy. I'm usually a sharp detector of humor, but all lines blur around Peeta. He must think I'm so dense.

"W-well, do you want to come inside?" I splutter. "I could make tea or something."

"Sure," says Peeta, grinning.

_I'm just being polite_, I insist to myself as I escort him to the living room. Peeta plops down on my favorite armchair. I wish fleetingly that I could photograph him there, seated like a golden-haired prince.

Instead, I traipse to the kitchen. I heat a pot of water. As the water boils, a plethora of emotions boil within me:

Admiration. Last year, as I watched Katniss on the screen, my eyes sometimes wandered to her "star-crossed lover." That muscular yet delicate, eloquent yet frank boy whom Katniss saved. I began to yearn for a lover like Peeta. Then, when I met him in person, I began to yearn for Peeta himself.

Shame. How could I covet someone who belonged to Katniss? Katniss, who risked her life to preserve mine from the schemes of the Capitol. Katniss, who hunts for hours a day in order to feed me. Katniss, who sings me a lullaby whenever I feel down.

Fear. Will I be able to keep my emotions in check?

I jerk out of my reverie as I notice the water boiling over. I hastily turn off the heat. With trembling hands, I pour the water into two teacups. I place the teacups on a tray. One has a flowers pattern, the other a picture of bread loaves.

_Flowers for Primrose, bread for the baker. _I quickly suppress the thought.

I carry the tray to the living room and set it on the coffee table. Peeta stares at a photo of Katniss, oblivious to my presence. I sigh, hopefully inaudibly.

Peeta hears, though. He sees me and smiles, picking up a steaming teacup. "Thanks, Prim," he says. "I wish I had a little sister like you."

I grit my teeth. "If you marry Katniss, you will," I grumble.

Peeta laughs through a slightly constricted throat. "If only," he says. "She prefers the hunter to the baker, though."

I sink into the armchair beside his, glancing at his face. Everything about him looks so dejected- his slouched posture, his pouting lips, his sorrowful puppy dog eyes.

"I prefer the baker," I blurt out. Then I clap a hand over my mouth. What am I saying?

Peeta laughs again. "Thanks for trying to console me," he says.

That's what he thought I was doing? Now_ he's _the dense one.

My frustration overwhelms my sense of reason. "How big of a difference is four years?" I demand.

Peeta cocks his brow. "What do you mean?"

I jump to my feet. "What I mean is, is it so wrong for me to l-"

"I'm home!" interrupts a voice from the doorway. Katniss's voice.

Peeta rushes towards her without casting me a backward glance.

I sigh with mingled regret and relief. My sister's voice has shocked me back to reality. I really lost it there. Thank goodness Katniss came in, I guess.

The rain continues to fall.

Maybe I'll feed Buttercup one of Peeta's rolls.


End file.
